The Vadarian Trap
by StoryGardener
Summary: Kirk is wounded and captured during a ruthless coup on Vadarial. Can Spock and McCoy find him before his captors sell him to the enemies of the Federation, or before the planet shuts itself off for ever? H/C heavy on the H. No slash. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

"Let's rest these people," Kirk commanded.

McCoy nearly dropped to his knees. They had been running for over three hours at a fast clip and honestly he thought he couldn't take another step. His breath rasped in his throat, his heart was pounding. He cursed his heavy black tunic, drenched with sweat. They had all donned the Vadarian formal dress for the ceremony - a trap to which they had lost four crewmen, from which they had saved twelve of the forty-three counselors.

How _they_ had kept up, without complaint, was beyond the Doctor. Composing himself, he took them in. They must all be over eighty years old and they looked it, too. He knew Vadarians were closely related to Vulcans – though without the trademark pointy ears – and as strong, but still he was surprised to see that there was not a bead of sweat on them. They hardly seemed to need the help of the crew – precious few of them, the Captain, Spock, Kline, and Sarrok - to sit down on the rocks strewn along the bottom of the canyon.

"Kline, over there," Kirk ordered when everyone was settled. He was badly out of breath, but he was ignoring it. "Sarrok, over there. Spock, check our rear. Try to see if you can pick up their readings. I'll look at what's ahead. Doctor, assess the condition of the council members. See if we can move on in ten minutes."

They crew fanned out from the center, where McCoy turned his attention to the elders. These wiry people were hardly out of breath and would be ready in ten minutes - unlike himself, perhaps, he admitted with some embarrassment. How close could the border of the Vadarian field be? Had they shaken off their pursuers?

He was kneeling next to the toughest octogenarian he had ever met when her toothless amusement at his attention faded and her eyes clouded with concern.

"Hih," she uttered, jutting out her sharp chin, "shoshek?"

McCoy didn't have to question what "shoshek" meant. A glance in the direction she had indicated set off all his alarm bells at once.

Kirk, who had taken up position fifty feet away, was leaning, almost doubled over, against the rock wall. His right arm was slung protectively around his middle. McCoy couldn't see the Captain's face, but his posture spoke of pain.

"Dammit!" McCoy swore.

Grabbing his medkit, he jumped up and swiftly approached the Captain.

"What!" Kirk protested , spinning around as soon as the medical sensor started to whirr. Then he winced, his flushed face drained of color, and McCoy had to grab his elbow to keep him from collapsing outright. With the Doctor's support, Kirk barely made it to the nearest rock, where he sat down with a groan.

"You're injured!" the Doctor hissed. He started to pull back Kirk's black tunic, shiny and heavy with blood. He cursed himself for his inattention. He had been concerned with the elders, and himself, and of course Kirk hadn't let on, but he should have known.

"A scratch," Kirk asserted through clenched teeth. His face was sickly pale and beaded with sweat, but his eyes were afire with his indomitable will fighting for control.

"You were _stabbed_, Jim! It missed your vital organs – only _just_ – but you've lost a lot of blood. You should've-"

"-What? Stopped and let you slap a bandaid on? We had to get out of there. And we move on in five minutes."

"We're not leaving here until I've stopped the bleeding, Captain!" McCoy ordered.

He knew that in this situation he could pull as much medical rank as he wanted, but the outcome would be the same. He just wanted to buy as much time as he could to do the minimal.

He carefully peeled back the last layer of clothing and quickly pressed a dressing to the small but deep wound, gushing blood. Kirk's sharp intake of breath almost made him take pity.

"Press as hard as you can," he instructed, taking Kirk's right hand – clammy, trembling – and guiding it onto the gauze. Then he set the hypospray and administered a shot. "For the pain, and to fight off the infection," he explained.

"Captain?"

Spock had surveyed the situation in a second.

"How bad?"

McCoy hesitated – _bad_ – and Kirk took advantage.

"How far to the border, Spock?" he cut in.

The Vulcan, who had made no indication of surprise or concern, glanced at the doctor, who returned his most troubled frown.

"Another two miles, Captain."

Kirk merely nodded, the fire in his eyes rapidly dying. McCoy feared he was going to faint, and no wonder. They should have stopped earlier. He took away the bandage, already saturated with blood, and taped a fresh one in place - for all the good that was going to do.

"Sol is a mile behind us now and gaining fast," Spock added. "They're on our trail. I doubt we can make it, Captain."

Kirk nodded again, grim.

"Break up camp," he said softly. "Get the refugees going. Set up a strategic post, up there, in that cleft in the ridge. I'll hold them off as long as I can."

"Captain," Spock began, but stopped.

McCoy couldn't believe his ears.

"Jim!" he yelled, enraged. "You can't be serious!"

"Spock, get them going _now_. Bones, help me to get up there, will you?"

If he hadn't had to hold up the Captain, McCoy would have grabbed Spock by the arm, but Spock was already moving away, without a fight, without even the smallest sign of objection.

"Jim, we can't leave you here!" McCoy bit, from anger and hopelessness as much as from exertion. Kirk was leaning heavily on him. How he had run this far…

"You can and you will," Kirk said quietly. He was rapidly losing strength, and that and the final tone of his words made McCoy cease his protests.

Soon the others had overtaken them. When they arrived at the notch, Spock had just finished setting up. He came forward and helped McCoy position Kirk against a gently sloping slab in front of a narrow gap. The Captain sighed in relief. He rested the back of his head against the sun-warmed stone and closed his eyes.

McCoy knelt beside him.

"Jim…" he tried on last time.

Kirk opened his eyes.

"Give me something, Bones, to keep me conscious. If I hold them off long enough you can make it. That's all the matters now, you hear?"

McCoy nodded once. Setting the hypo he mumbled, "I hear but I don't have to like it." He jabbed Kirk in the arm. Then he saw the Captain's gentle smile and grumbled, "And you'd better be alive when we come back for you, 'cause I'm gonna kill you for pulling this stunt!"

Kirk nodded, attempting a serious face. "It's a deal, Bones," he said softly. "Spock?"

Even in his distress, McCoy didn't miss Spock's slight hesitation, and the way the Vulcan's first word stuck in his throat.

"Captain-Jim. You will see them coming from here," Spock said. "I suggest you fire at that overhang when they reach that point in the path. One blast can take out a few of them. I also positioned a phaser over there. It is aimed straight at the curve in the path, over there. The communicator acts as a remote."

The Vulcan hesitated for a second. He gently took Kirk's left hand, opened the weakly curled-up fingers and placed the communicator in the palm, then tenderly cupped the hand closed around it.

Kirk too was speechless. He looked at his hand, held by Spock's warm, slender hands.

"Go now," he whispered, keeping his eyes on his hand. Then his head snapped up. "_Quickly_," he said fiercely, briefly taking both of them in. "_Go_!"

Spock stood and pulled McCoy up by his arm. McCoy needed the Vulcan's help as they stumbled away. Then they ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two of *The Vadarian Trap*

He concentrated on the warmth of the sun on his face. The rest of his body didn't feel right, too chilled, too thin. The slab under him was cold and slippery with blood. He wanted so badly to close his eyes and go to sleep. He wanted so badly to let go of the phaser and the communicator, still in his hand, where Spock had placed it.

He gripped the communicator tighter. At least there was still the warmth of the sun.

No, he had to stay vigilant! He had to keep them at bay, long enough for Spock and McCoy and the rest to reach the edge of the shield. Once through, they would be able to hail the Enterprise and be beamed up to safety.

It wouldn't be long now. He knew how desperately Sol needed to eliminate the elders. The word of Federation men meant nothing, but an accusation coming from the elders would doom Roshan's coup. The usurper's plan to make it look like the opposition was responsible for the slaughter at the Capitol would fail.

Sol, Roshan's general, had severely underestimated Kirk and his crew. The only way he could save his favor with his commander, if not his career, would be to catch up with the elders and kill each and every one of them. And Kirk had experienced his ambition and the resoluteness with which he drove home a dagger.

He looked up at the sky, too bright, but warm. He _had _to hold on, hold out against the growing emptiness inside, the numbing coldness-

A scuffle on the path below.

He wrenched himself to alertness. He rolled over onto his good side and slid up on the slab, trying not to groan against the stiffness of his body, the sudden, sharp pain.

Three of them, jogging along, carelessly close to one another. Not Sol, though. Sol appeared around the bend, and then, one, two, three, four more, all armed to the teeth.

Gritting his teeth he shifted his position a little and aimed, waited, prayed his senses wouldn't desert him.

Hold it, hold it. _Now_.

The energy bolt hit the overhang and the landslide boomed. The three barely had a chance to shout out in alarm.

Releasing the pressure on his leg, Kirk let himself slide back down a bit so he'd be out of sight. To see over the ledge he now had to crane his head. He tried it, surveyed the path and ducked again. They had taken cover.

He rested his cheek against the rock. Just this jolt of activity had taken the wind out of him. His ear started ringing, his head swam.

_Stay with it_, he ordered himself. He breathed as deeply as he could against the stinging pain in his side.

He knew he shouldn't look over the ledge too often. His was such an obvious vantage point, Sol had no doubt already guessed his whereabouts and was just waiting to shoot his head off with one of their primitive but deadly accurate propulsive guns. He would have to rely on sound more than on sight. They would have to tread very carefully on the stony, loose ground of the canyon, which amplified the slightest noise, not to be heard.

He strained to listen. Less than a minute went by before there was a noise, and not very subtle. Someone was trying to make a run for it. Frantically he tried to get an aural bearing on the runner. Staying down he pressed the communicator button. There was an explosion down below, and he just about made out the sound of footfalls, even faster.

Retreating.

Good. Now they thought there were two of them. That would make them more cautious, and slower.

He closed his eyes in relief as much as desperation. He pictured his men, running toward safety. Each step they took would be hard-earned.

More sounds down there. Grunting with the exertion he lifted his head and pushed off against the ground to see two of them making another run for it over the downed pile of rocks and the bodies of their comrades. He fired off a phaser blast and missed badly. Instantly a shot rang out and the rock right next to his head exploded. He screamed as pain exploded in his ear and his face, and again when his boot slid and he slipped down the slab with a jolt.

His third scream was an intentional one of rage and will as he pulled himself from the jaws of oblivion.

_Concentrating _on the very precise and delicate pain of the hundreds of pieces of rock shrapnel embedded in the right half of his face and his right ear, he held down the communicator button for non-stop firing. The blasts seemed to last an eternity, but it couldn't have lasted longer than a couple of minutes until they ceased, the phaser drained.

Even through the hellish noise in his ear, in his brain, the sounds in the canyon came loud and clear: a yelled order, many men running,

He knew not to try to push himself back up on the slab. They had his position covered. Anyway they were past his line of fire now. He had to stay conscious and wait for them to round the bend to where he lay. He raised his phaser jerkily and tried to hold it there. His head spun, half his hearing gone, half his sight too with the blood that was flowing freely into his right eye.

_One more, just one more_, he prayed. Spock could hold off the rest of them until they reached the energy barrier, if they hadn't reached already. He realized he had lost all sense of time. Shock was creeping up on him fast and it cost him almost all his energy to keep the phaser aimed.

A flash of intense black against the pale sandstone. He pressed the button, kept it pressed. The noise was deafening for a while. Then it quickly receded into the blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three of *The Vadarian Trap***

A vague recollection of gaining consciousness, the kicking and screaming kind of waking followed by a hasty retreat from the assault of more pain than he could cope with. Back into the dark box of oblivion.

The memory of warm hands laying something gently in his trembling hand brought an avalanche of more memories, of faces, voices from a past when there was no pain.

But not this voice now, muffled.

"Captain Kirk? Captain _Kirk_?"

He realized his eyes were open. What he saw was a dark lid, wide, flat and heavy. And against that darkness a flaring began, white streaks like lightning. And suddenly, too large, too close, a face.

_Who?_

Trying to think was like swimming against a riptide. He didn't know which scared him most, the fact that half of his brain was a throbbing engine on overload, or the fact that the other half was weirdly vacant.

Yet there was the sudden sharp lance of a wish. He needed to know.

_Did they make it?_

A hand removed something from his mouth.

"Say that again?"

The face moved in closer, filling his entire vision but strangely becoming less distinct.

"Did they make it?"

Did he say that? The voice – barely a whisper – came like from a great distance. Still it sounded like his, and it had taken a great deal of his strength. The face receded again, erasing itself against the flickering darkness.

Suddenly, a brutal invasion, something gripping his arm. Too much sensation, an implosion inside his head.

"Stay with me. _Kirk, _stay-"

Back, back into the darkness!

00000000000

When James Kirk woke again it was like a bubble popped and he burst into a world of bright sunlight, fresh air. He winced, tensed at so much of it after his stifled existence in the dark box.

A face appeared. Pale, surrounded by a thatch of jet black hair, punctured by black, not unkindly eyes.

"Calm now. Goo-ood. I'm going to remove the oxygen mask. You should be just fine."

The man reached down and the thing over his mouth was pulled away. It was anticlimactic. Nothing happened, he just went on breathing.

The man squinted down at him, full of curiosity. He too had perhaps expected something.

"Good. _Good_. How are you feeling?"

"Where am I?"

"You're on Vadarial. You can hear and see me, yes? That's good."

"Where in Vadarial? How?"

He so badly wanted to move, to _thrash_ in the bed, but though his mind and senses were somewhat clear again, his body remained shackled by weakness.

"I can't answer that. Don't try to move. It'll only hurt more."

Pain. He made a quick reconnaissance of his body. Yes, a dull throbbing in his side, a sharper ache in his right ear. He ignored it.

"Who are you?"

"I am Doctor Tancred. I take care of you."

"What happened?"

"Again, I can't-"

Behind the doctor another face appeared. Kirk's heart jumped.

_Sol._

Sol was here. If Sol was here-

"Where are they!" Kirk bit, fighting back a surge of panic. "What happened to them?"

Sol stood looking down at him, squinting a bit, as if thinking about what to answer. A cruel little smile began to play on his lips, showing the gap between his sharp teeth. He was a tall, strongly built man, with the typical Vadarian black hair and pale face, in which his dark eyes shone with malice.

"What do you think happened, Kirk?" Sol sneered. "They died. We shot them not far from the border. The Vulcan first. Then the two in red. They had no cover, so it was easy. Your good Doctor tried to move the elders along. I shot _him_ last."

Kirk felt like he had been punched in the chest. He tried to raise himself, to grab the bastard by the throat.

"I held you off," he whispered, hating the despair in his voice, the paralysis that held him pinned to the bed.

Sol smiled down on him.

"Then we brought you back to the capital," he continued, "and transfused your Ensign's blood to you."

Kirk moaned. An image flashed through his mind: Ensign Dar, too far away in the vast, crowded Hall of Ceremonies, trying to deflect a machete with her forearm. Her scream high above the other screams. Spock's hand on his arm as he started toward her. Too late, too late…

"Yes, your female Ensign," Sol said thinly. "A good thing she had survived, because she had your blood type. An easy decision, a Captain against an Ensign."

_Dead._

"Why keep me alive?" Kirk groaned. It was as much a appeal for death as a question.

"A great Starfleet Captain like you must be worth something... Oh, come on, Kirk, did you really think you could save them, save yourself?"

_Not myself_, _not myself_. It was his last thought before he plunged into the abyss that gaped at his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four of *The Vadarian Trap* **

Kirk woke up to a damp, chill morning. He immediately set his mind to grim resolve.

_Today is the day._

This was their third day at the fourth safe house - that he had been conscious in, at least. Though he was always drugged when they moved and though they were effective at hiding any clues about their whereabouts, he was well aware of the fact that they were moving deeper and deeper into the vast forests of Vadarial. They were moving faster, too. Their stay at the previous place had been a brief and improvised affair, and he could see that they would be moving again soon, tomorrow perhaps, if not today.

He had only a vague idea of the direction where civilization lay, and no clue as to how far. But he knew he had to attempt it. He felt much stronger, but had managed to fool Tancred and his other jailors into thinking the opposite. There were also few of them, perhaps because they were assured of his weakness, or because the constant travel had broken up the group, to make them less conspicuous. He had gained a thorough understanding of their routines, carelessly unchanged from house to house, and knew where he could take advantage.

As for his strategy, the first step was to be awake at a time when he wouldn't be missed for hours. Then, to steal Tancred's shoes. Then, to escape the house unnoticed. Next, to put as many miles behind him. After that…

Scowling, Kirk started his daily workout, a series of muscle contractions and breathing exercises. The physical exertion came easier now, and had even started to feel good. The dull pain in his side where the stab wound had healed all wrong hardly bothered him anymore. Still, when the door opened half an hour later, he had no trouble feigning some distress.

"Good morning, Jim," said Tancred in his usual sympathetic manner. "Did you have a bad night?"

Kirk had begun to like this shy man, who had taken care of him as well as he had been allowed.

"Not too bad, Doc, not too bad. I want to get up," he groaned.

Tancred slowly shook his large head, a sad smile playing on his lips.

"Every morning, Jim, you put yourself through this. Yesterday you hardly made it to the landing. Why not rest yourself?"

"You know I need to," Kirk smirked, raising himself up on his elbows and giving a rather convincing show of debility and futile stubbornness.

As always, Tancred humored Kirk's misguided attempt to assert his presence in the household. He helped him sit up, then to his feet. The Doctor remained by his side, firmly holding on to his elbow.

This was the hardest part. The damage to his injured ear had not been repaired. His ear drum was still ruptured and infection still lingered. There was always noise in that ear, along with a dull ache and some dizziness, but the moment he changed to an upright position all that escalated.

This he didn't have to feign. He closed his eyes to the flashes in his vision, only to find them there, in the darkness as well – these more than the roaring ears kept him from sleep, woke him up from rest. Tancred called them phosphenes, equally the result of the blow to his ear, and brain, when Sol's bullet hit the rock in the canyon.

Well, no matter, it abated after a few minutes, during which Tancred patiently stood by his side. Then he opened his eyes again and nodded grimly.

Tancred helped him through the door.

"Up early, Cap!" said Gon, jailor number one, at his post next in the narrow corridor.

Now here was a man Kirk had even more difficulty resisting. Gon was a middle-aged man who had spent most of his life in the military, had seen battle and – Kirk imagined – never questioned his orders, but did not take pleasure in killing or wounding. They had bonded over numerous chess games and an occasional war story.

Gon obligingly stood up to let him and the Doctor pass. Kirk smiled back at him, trying to ignore the complex feelings the man raised in him. Though he was well aware of the Stockholm Syndrome, he felt he was falling prey to it as he spent more time at the mercy of these men, who were ever more helpful – he would even say, on occasion, kind – than their instructions permitted. All of them except Sol, of course.

But Sol wasn't here now. One more reason to go for it today.

"Morning, Major Gon," Kirk said. "Going for a walk."

Gon smiled indulgently.

He had a similar short, but friendly enough conversation with Sim, the other soldier.

"Tell me another one, Cap," asked Liash, the cook and jack of all trades.

"Scones," said Kirk.

"Tell me the recipe, Cap."

"Flour, butter… salt? I'm a Starfleet Captain, Liash, not a cook!"

They smiled. It was their morning routine.

"Good to see you up and about, Cap."

He completed the tour of the house and was helped back into his room.

"I am impressed," said Tancred, helping him sit down on the bed.

Kirk said nothing, only smiled a bitter smile, trying to convey the right mixture of exhaustion and stubbornness. He lay down with a sigh, and promptly closed his eyes.

0000000000

An hour later it was time for the change of the guard. He kept his eyes closed, his breathing steady, and concentrated on the sounds coming through his open door. Gon and Sim quietly exchanged a couple of words. Then someone, Gon probably, stood in the door opening, looking at him for a minute. Then the old soldier's soft footfalls receded down the corridor.

Ten minutes later he heard Sim's gentle snoring. Kirk cautiously opened his eyes. Sim was right on cue. Ten minutes ago Tancred and Liash left in the car on a run for supplies – trips that took longer and longer as they fled from populated areas. That left only Gon. Kirk could hear him washing up in the other side of the small house. Soon he'd be down for a rest after his dutiful nightshift. He knew the old soldier had no trouble falling asleep, but slept lightly.

He sat up and held still for a few minutes, quietly working through the dizziness. Then, holding on to the bed, he got to his feet. Another dizzy spell, more intense, but shorter. Then he stood unaided. Apart from some hurried, furtive attempts, it had been a while.

For a moment he almost panicked. Maybe he wasn't ready for this. His legs would certainly support him for a mile or two, maybe three, but would that be enough?

He pushed the thought away and concentrated on taking a step, another one. It was enough to bring him back to the present. He had observed the floorboards. This one was loose and it creaked. He stepped over it. He was in the door opening now and entered the corridor. To the right, the closed window. To the left, Sim, collapsed on the chair, chin on chest, arms dangling, legs outstretched so the soles of his boots touched the opposite wall.

Kirk smiled. Not a morning person, that Sim.

Breathing soundlessly through his mouth and holding on to the wall, Kirk stepped over the long legs. Avoid this floor board. Turn right, try the first door. Unlocked. A sigh of relief.

This was Tancred's room, and Tancred had the same shoe size as him. His pajama pants and shirt would have to do, but he wouldn't last long barefoot. Kirk spotted a suitcase on the dresser and opened it. It was methodically packed, and on top, in a cloth bag, he found Tancred's other pair of shoes. He smiled again. Each of the shoes was stuffed with a balled-up pair of socks.

He closed the suitcase. Carrying the shoes, one pair of socks still stuffed in one, he retreated from the room. Then he caught the image of himself in the small hand mirror, propped on the window sill.

He hardly recognized himself. He looked… sick. He studied himself. It had just been a long time since he'd seen himself, except for a vague glimpse in a window pane, a fractioned reflection in a bowl of water. Gaunt, eyes sunken, but bright. That's all that mattered. Bones would take care of the scars, many tiny, some more conspicuous, on the right side of his face. Minor surgery would fix his ear as well.

_Bones-no…_

Swallowing, he turned and left the room. This was the door behind which Gon slept. Then he was at the back entrance, open except for the screen door. It seemed to take an eternity to open and close it quietly on its creaking hinges.

This was as far as he had ever made it. The porch was a ramshackle affair, just like the house. He had no idea of its noises. He let go of the doorframe and walked as lightly as he could across to the wooden steps, then down the steps.

He found himself standing in the grass. What a powerful sensation that was, the grass under his bare feet! He sat down on the last step and pulled on the socks, then the shoes. They were a perfect fit, and rugged enough.

He was out. Now came the hard work. Whether it paid off would depend on luck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five of *The Vadarian Trap***

All he could handle at first was a fast, evenly paced hike. He tried to stay on course and had been lucky so far with the bramble and nettle-like patches. After a while he quickened his pace, not so much because he felt he could handle it, but because he was painfully aware of time passing.

How long until Tancred and Liash returned? How long before they found the sleeping Sim and his empty bed? How long for them to organize a search party? They didn't have tricorders or lifesign sensors that he knew of, so he had decided to hide his tracks at intervals, but that would buy him only a little bit of time.

He had debated simply taking the dirt road, or at least staying parallel to it so he could duck into the brush as soon as he heard the car coming back. That beckoning road had brought them here, it was the road to supplies, it must lead _somewhere_. But then the road was also the most obvious choice, and they would look for him there first. It would also facilitate his capture via vehicle.

He stopped to stop his head from spinning, leaning against a tree trunk. How long had he run? A watch would have come in handy.

_Next time_, he thought, then cursed. There would be no next time. _This was it. This was all_.

He had better make it.

Two hours later he was barely making any headway. His right ear was a tunnel of fire barreling through his brain. It was bleeding profusely, coloring his white shirt red. Every step he took sent a crash through his throbbing head. He swayed from tree trunk to tree trunk, struggling to stay upright. The dizziness came in unrelenting waves, each wave nudging his balance off kilter just a little more until his surroundings rocked like the stormy seas.

Then his blood ran cold. Through the din in his ears he heard someone yelling. He stopped , holding on to a tree, and looked back.

They were only several hundred yards behind him.

He spun around, anger rising in him. He got going again. All that mattered was each step he took as he took it. All that mattered was each second that they did not catch up with him. He stumbled and got up again, kept going.

"_Kirk_!"

It was Sol.

_It doesn't matter. Keep going, Spock! Bones! Don't make it all be for nothing._

A shot rang out and a bullet grazed his arm. It was enough to bring him down, with a half spin and a thud. Bellowing with anger and pain he started crawling.

Footsteps in the duff, closing in. A hand descended on his shoulder and yanked him over onto his back.

Intruding upon the breathtaking background of all those trees receding into the bright blue sky, was Sol.

"You don't learn, do you, Kirk?" he sneered.

And suddenly he understood. He had pondered it many times. If Bones and Spock hadn't made it, if they had been killed, why was Sol moving him around from one safe house to the next? Why were they hiding? Who were they hiding from, if not the government of elders? But what if it was just taking Roshan this long to get the planet under his control? What if the Federation was still actively looking for them, because they had not beamed up, because they were dead… Always there had been that one thread of doubt, which when pulled sundered the entire fabric of his reasoning, rendering it a fantasy, wishful thinking.

But now, something in Sol's expression made it crystal clear to him.

_They made it._

He laughed out loud, of joy, of revenge.

"They made it, didn't they?" he roared. "You never shot them! That's why we're fugitives. And this is your penance, the great General Sol, playing jailor to me!"

Sol sneered and the nozzle of his rifle came to rest, hard, on his chest.

"You can't kill me, Sol, you need me," Kirk pointed out, almost hysterically jubilant. He was rapidly losing it – consciousness, his sanity to the pain and exhaustion – and he wanted to get the most out of this, his moment of triumph.

"Doctor!" Sol ordered, his voice steady but his face red with rage.

Tancred approached warily. His face was a mask of fear. He didn't look at Kirk, but kept his eyes on Sol. Sol looked at the Doctor for a second, then back at Kirk. Kirk understood.

"Don't-" he breathed.

Sol raised the rifle. Tancred took two steps back, his hands outstretched in horror.

"Don't, Sol,plea-" Kirk pleaded.

The blast was like a blow to his head. Tancred's chest exploded with a flare of blood. He was thrown back a few feet, where he went down with a thud.

"Now, as for you," Sol said, turning back to Kirk. "It's true that I can't kill you, but I can make you wish, _again_, that I did."

The riffle came down again and the nozzle landed on Kirk's right knee, pinning him there.

James T. Kirk braced himself for what was coming. He waited for five seconds, and though the waiting was horrendous, it was nothing compared to the pain that ripped through his body like an electric current singeing his every nerve, carrying him deeper into the black, suffocating box than before.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six of *The Vadarian Trap* **

"Spock!"

Spock stopped short right in front of the Conference Room and sighed inwardly. It was regretful that the Doctor had been informed already – he must have Lieutenant Uhura to thank for that. He would have wished to have told him later, after the briefing, and in private.

Spock was concerned for the Doctor – coming at him down the corridor, eyes blazing with all the anger and regret of the past months. McCoy had not had the benefit of Spock's own quiet assurance that Kirk was still alive – though, it seemed to him, rather painfully alive. The Doctor had also not understood that assurance, and Spock had not been able to make him understand it. As was often the case when the Captain was in danger, McCoy blamed Spock for not having prevented it, for not having obtained a good outcome, and lastly for not reacting to the debacle with the same emotional outburst as the good Doctor himself.

And here he was, looking like teakettle about to let off steam with a mighty shriek.

"What's this I hear about going back to Vadarial? Why now?" he yelled. "It has been three months! First they let us hang around there but we can't lift a finger. Then they order us away. And now we're going back!"

The commotion was attracting the attention of the few crewmen in the corridor.

"I propose we discuss this in the Conference Room, Doctor. Admiral Faulk is about to brief me there."

He stood aside and MCoy stormed into the room, muttering the hated Admiral's name under his breath. Spock joined him in front of the screen. He pushed the button and Faulk's face appeared. The Admiral was instantly on alert.

"Commander Spock, why is the Doctor at this briefing?" he snapped.

Spock surreptitiously put a hand on McCoy's arm, checking the invective right on time. McCoy had given Faulk an earful twice already, once when the Admiral had forbidden them to interfere in Vadarian affairs after the elders were returned, and again when he had ordered the Enterprise away from the planet. That last time Faulk had nearly court-martialed the Doctor, and the Doctor had nearly resigned from Star Fleet.

"The Captain has always allowed Doctor McCoy full access to all information and to the decision making process on the Enterprise, Admiral," Spock said. "It is not something I wish to change."

He caught a glimpse of McCoy's surprise in the corner of his eye.

"Very well," Faulk snapped. "For once I may have good news for you, Doctor_. _The Enterprise is to proceed to Vadarial immediately. Roshan has been driven back into the periphery of the continent. The Council of elders has regained control and sent us news of Captain Kirk-"

"-Jim!" McCoy choked. "What news?"

"There is not much to go on, but it is rumored that he is alive. It is said that Roshan is hiding him in his old territories behind the frontline. He is losing that ground as well now, so he is moving Kirk around. Other sources tell us that Roshan has contacted the Romulans. We suspect he wants to sell Kirk to them in exchange for military technology. The elders have agreed to let us come into Vadarial to help in the search. They are well aware that it would bode badly for their planet if Roshan should acquire such technology."

It was all Spock could do not to wince at the flare of anger erupting from the Doctor. He clamped McCoy's arm so hard the Doctor flinched.

"What is that, Doctor?" Faulk asked suspiciously.

"Sir," Spock broke in, "will we be allowed to use the ship's sensors? It would greatly speed up-"

"-No, Commander. They will not lower their shield. They fear it would make it easier for Roshan to make contact with the Romulans and for the latter to beam Kirk out. You will have to use your tricorders locally."

"That's like looking for a needle in a haystack!" McCoy sputtered.

"With all due respect, Admiral," Spock cut him off, "the Doctor is correct. Vadarial had as much habitable surface as does Earth-"

"-There are some indications of where he might be held," interrupted Faulk.

Spock had studied the maps and the political history of the planet.

"Roshan's old territories are vast forests stretching over thousands of square miles, Admiral-"

"-There is an informant," Faulk intruded again. "What little the elders have heard from him, or her, they have relayed to us. It's not much to go on, but it's all we have, gentleman."

"Is there a deadline, Admiral?" Spock asked softly. He knew there would be, and he dreaded the answer.

"Ten days, Commander. You have ten days as of this transmission. After that the Vadarians will double their shield and in effect cut off their planet from any outside contact. Faulk out."

"You can let go of my arm now," groused McCoy.

Spock released him. His apology was deferred by McCoy's outburst.

"Did you hear that! They're only concerned because Jim might be traded to the Romulans! Both of 'em, the Vadarians _and_ the Federation, after all he did-"

"-Doctor," Spock said firmly. "We have very little time. I suggest we leave the politics to the politicians and turn instead to more urgent matters." He pressed a button on the console. "Mister Sulu, set course for Vadarial, warp eight."

000000000

Spock surveyed the room. Doctor McCoy was sitting at the table, his head in his hands. Mister Scott was morose. Sulu and Chekov looked equally downcast.

In front of them floated a holographic map of Vadarial. The map scrolled over the cities, the mountain ranges, the vast forests. These were all colored in either of three colors. Green, for those areas where the Captain could (highly probably) not be. Orange, for less unlikely places. Red, for those sections for which Spock had calculated, with a margin of error, an eighty percent probability that Kirk was held there.

The red zone was, as Spock had pointed out to the Admiral, densely forested, devoid of inhabitants and therefore witnesses and potential sources of information, virtually inaccessible due to a lack of good roads, and immense. The informant had communicated one message only, containing meager data, and it was twenty days old – McCoy had fumed about that, and so had Spock, only not so visibly.

"Is there no way our sensors can penetrate the shields, Mister Scott?" Spock asked. He knew the answer. He only asked for the Doctor's benefit.

"Nay, Doctor," Scott said. "That darn shield is as impenetrable as it was when we beamed up ye and the elders. If it doesn't come down, ships' sensors are useless."

Another three hours, fourteen minutes, and they would reach Vadarian. They would have a little over nine days…

"Mister Chekov, assign the away teams their quadrants and inform them of Vadarian protocols. Local sensor searches for the Captain's human life signs can only be part of our methods. It will be more practical to interview what inhabitants and infrastructure we find in these desolate places, and to follow leads. Select only non-essential personnel, and half of the security personnel."

"Why only half, Spock?" McCoy asked.

"If, as the elders suspect, Roshan is in contact with the Romulans, we would be doing a great disservice to the Captain if we left the Enterprise unprotected and understaffed. Mister Chekov, Doctor, you will lead the surface search for the Captain. As for myself I am compelled to stay on board. As are you, Mister Scott and Mister Sulu. Transport and communication can happen only via shuttlecraft. Mister Sulu, set up a shuttlecraft schedule that will allow the maximum degree of communication."

Spock nodded once, and the briefing was at an end. The Doctor stayed behind with Spock.

"Spock," he began. "What happens if we don't find Jim on time?"

Spock stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but he knew McCoy's trained, and currently extra-sensitive eye had seen.

"When they close that shield, no one will be able to enter and no one will be able to leave."

"The elders might still find Jim and keep him safe…" McCoy said, his voice lacking conviction.

"The elders have made it clear, Doctor, that their priority is to eliminate Roshan the Usurper. It was only because the Captain saved their lives that they are giving us this small opportunity. Beyond that, in all possible scenarios, it will be most expedient for them if the Captain is no longer a factor."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven of *The Vadarian Trap***

Waking up in the new house, house number seven, had been heart-wrenching. The bedroom had immediately reminded him of his old bedroom in his parents' house in Iowa. It was bright, airy, and it had that same smell, of lavender and lemons. Only the house was surrounded not by fields of corn, but by a forest.

He stood now by the large, open window. He was on the second story, and still the trees towered. And there was no end to them. Trees, sky, all around. And in the center, James T Kirk and his entourage of nine others.

He fingered the white sheer curtain rippling in the chilly breeze. Even that was _of home_.

Balancing on his crutches he carefully turned to see who had entered the room. It was Siska, the nurse, with breakfast. She nodded to him in that shy manner of hers. He turned back to the view. Siska was kind and lonely and scared. Siska was like him, a captive.

But he had to keep away.

Tancred had paid the ultimate price for his kindness to him. Sim and Gon were gone too, he didn't know how or where. The only one left from the time before his botched escape was Liash, the cook. He avoided eye contact with Liash. He couldn't bear the blame in the man's gaze.

So he didn't acknowledge Siska.

_I am a closed box. If I stay inside they can't touch me. If I stay inside they won't get hurt. _

"You'll catch a cold," Siska rebuked him. "Do put on your robe and slippers."

She set the tray on the table next to the bed, gathered the robe from the foot of the bed and draped it over his shoulders.

He stood stock still, enduring her fleeting, gentle touch.

He wanted to stay barefoot. What a surprise it had been when his feet had landed on the cool wooden planks. _Like home_. He'd had to close his eyes for a moment to control his suddenly troubled breathing.

_Pull yourself together!_

"The Doctor will be here soon. You should eat something," said Siska to his back.

He looked at the tray. He was hungry, and he needed the nourishment, but he was going to be damned if he was going to lie in the bed and let Parsam look down on him.

0000000000

Even among humans Kirk wasn't a very tall man, and in the land of Vadarial he stood at least a head under the average male. He was, however, a little taller than Parsam. This being one of his few advantages, he figured, he'd better milk it for all it was worth. So when the short, rotund man entered the room, Kirk turned to face him, and pushed off on his crutches to stand straight and tall.

"The nurse told me you are refusing to eat again," Parsam said icily.

If Kirk made eye contact with anyone in the household, it was with this man. In fact, he always went out of his way to do so, and as aggressively as he could.

Parsam met his gaze with his own seething mix of arrogance, inferiority and resentment. He was a sadist, and Kirk's defiance came as much from outrage that this man called himself a doctor as from his natural aversion to bullies. Parsam was also unpredictable. This may have made other men cower in his presence, but Kirk saw it as his advantage and provoked him as often as he could. For when Parsam struck, it was from loss of control, and Kirk never failed to make him feel it.

_Stand up. Rise above him, literally and figuratively. _

Parsam pushed out a sigh of irritation, brusquely crossed the room and dragged the chair from under the desk. Sneering, "_Sit-down_," he gave Kirk a brutal shove.

Kirk lost his balance and landed awkwardly in the chair. He managed not to cry out against the incineration in his right knee – splintered bone fragments shifting and puncturing hearths of infection in the unhealed muscle and flesh. The cold sweat broke out on his forehead and his vision went black with bright flashes.

But gritting his teeth, he shook his head with a saddened, most annoying disapproval. And _smiled._

000000000

Parsam by now suspected that James Kirk _liked_ pain. This drove him crazy, because pain was his bludgeon and Kirk, though not immune to it, remained unbroken.

Sol had blown the knee to a pulp and had allowed only the barest of medical intervention. He had also called up the most ruthless of medical doctors in what was left of Roshan's military faction. Parsam had been glad to accept the job. As a sympathizer and active member of Roshan's party he had lost favor with the elders, and his past was sure to land him in the dock. Going into hiding had seemed like a good idea.

At first he had had a field day keeping this human alive and, as much as possible, conscious through the agony of the trauma, the infection and "healing". But as soon as Kirk had overcome the worst of it and regained the minimal amount of conscious control, the job for Parsam quickly went sour.

By now he hated it and he hated this man, but his hatred was without consequence. It had never happened to him.

"If you keep it up we'll just tube feed again," he said snidely.

But Kirk didn't react. None of the humiliations ever worked on this man.

Parsam remembered well his first sight of the Star Fleet Captain and his curiosity still untarnished by hatred and a sense of defeat. The blonde hair and hazel eyes alone set the alien apart from the dark-haired, dark-eyed Vadarians. He had much less brute physical strength than a Vadarian, but he was also much more tolerant of pain, both physically and mentally. Kirk may have been catatonic with shock and pain when Parsam came to him, but even then the doctor had witnessed his staggering will.

And yes, he admitted it, he had admired that. He had always been outspoken about his distaste for the Vadarian natural urge to gentleness and to what comes easiest. He knew only one other who rose above that, who was unrelenting and ruthless in his ambition.

Not himself. No, not himself.

Sol.

And now here he was, caught between Kirk and Sol, two giant suns. He, a mere moon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight of *The Vadarian Trap***

McCoy cursed loudly.

They had located the safe house and the grave in the woods with the remains of three Vadarian bodies. McCoy didn't want to hear their names. They had been his friend's abductors and he couldn't care less about their incongruous fate. He cared more about the blood found nearby.

Human blood. Jim's blood.

McCoy sank to his knees in front of the scene. It was no longer visible to the naked eye, but his tricorder was brutally direct: a great amount of blood, along with bone fragments, and a bullet, embedded deep into the soft forest floor. This event had happened forty-three days ago.

_Cold, too cold._

Chekov came over and carefully put his hand on his shoulder. The Doctor shrugged it off. He knew he was irritable or, truth be told, explosive like a powder keg. Time was running out. The Vadarian intelligence was deficient and, in his eyes, untrustworthy. The trail was running _cold_.

And this, this now ... He wanted to stay here, on his knees, on the spot where his friend was so badly hurt, if not killed. To make a shrine, or a bed.

_God, he was tired._

"Doctor," Chekov said gently, "we found more information in the house."

"What?" he grumbled hoarsely. He was tired of this seesaw of hope and despair.

"It's a map of sorts, just like at the other house. It's the informant's."

"The informant, the informant!" he griped, finally turning around to face Chekov. "This so-called informant has been leading us on a wild goose chase!"

"Doctor, he, or she, did lead us to _this_ house," the Russian responded softly, "and we did find… proof, that the Captain was here."

McCoy sighed. He guessed if they had killed Jim they would have thrown him into the mass grave with the others. He got to his feet and swung his tricorder around one more time. Nothing more. No more bodies. No body.

"Sorry, Chekov," he said. "I'm sorry. Now show me that map."

00000000

The sketch was hidden behind a dresser in a bedroom. It was shakily, hurriedly drawn, and vague.

"What do you make of it?" asked McCoy.

"My best interpretation," said Chekov, "is that, from this house, they moved deeper into the forest, in the general direction of the northeast. These two dots probably indicate two intermediate safe houses, and the last one, with the cross, their destination. The connecting lines are schematic but I've correlated them to what maps we have of this area. They coincide with two old roads. But the map doesn't make it clear whether we are to stay on the first road, which goes all the way north, or if we are to veer east, onto the other one."

"How far?"

Chekov winced and shook his head once.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, it is impossible to say. But the first intermediate stop is on the first road. Maybe we'll find more information there."

McCoy gave the young Russian a grave look of despair.

"Pavel, what if our informant was one of the three we just found in that grave back there?"

Chekov remained silent. It was clear that he too had considered the possibility.

McCoy nodded.

"Let's go."

000000000

"Commander, I read abnormal fluctuations-" Lieutenant Dar, in the Navigator chair, spoke up.

Spock was already studying the scanner on the Captain's chair. He needed all of 1.6 seconds to determine the cause.

"A Romulan warbird, cloaked."

"Shields up, Mister Spock?" Sulu asked, his hand hovering over his console.

"_Negative_, Mister Sulu. They cannot fire on us while cloaked. Let us keep our small advantage by making them believe we have not detected them. "

"It's gone now, Sir," said Dar.

"Indeed," said Spock, looking up from his scanner.

He was well aware that all the eyes on the bridge were on him. Behind him Mister Scott entered from the turbolift and took up position at the Engineering station.

"Let us assume," Spock began, "that they have just arrived."

"Aye, Mister Spock," Scott took up the challenge. "That we detected them was due to their dropping out of warp."

"Their sensors and communications," Spock continued, "are as constrained by the Vadarian shield as ours, so they too need to utilize a shuttlecraft. But with the Enterprise already in position, they cannot uncloak to release their shuttlecraft."

"A-aye," said Scott, "they'd have to move to the _other_ side of the planet, where our sensors can't detect them and our weapons can't reach. And they may have already done so, _or _they may still be off the starboard bow."

"Indeed, Mister Scott. And we are stuck in this position, above the area of the search. We cannot communicate the situation to our away team, and if we move away from here, we jeopardize the link with our own shuttlecraft. Also, if they have _not_ moved to the other side of the planet, and we do, we will allow them to send their shuttle from the closest point to the Captain."

"Or," Scott put in, "if our shuttle emerges from the shield _with_ the Captain, they will have an easy job of it whisking him away."

"At the risk of their shuttlecraft reaching the Captain first, it is clear that we must stay-"

"-Commander!" Lieutenant Dar interrupted him. "The _Copernicus_!"

At the sight of their shuttlecraft emerging from the shield, everyone on the bridge was hit by a pulse of energy. Even Spock was not immune to it. He stood up abruptly and barked:

"Who are the occupants?"

"Just the pilot, Sir," Dar said.

The pronouncement rudely severed the bridge from that almost unbearable expectation. Every time the shuttle appeared, the possibility was that the Captain was on board. Again their hopes had been dashed. And now there was the added threat of the warbird.

Even Spock permitted himself a small sigh, both of disappointment and relief. Had the Captain been on board, and if the warbird was still in the neighborhood, they would have been thrown, instantly, into battle conditions. The Romulans too would have determined the life signs on board. The shuttle's appearance had not drawn them out.

"The _Copernicus _is hailing us, Sir," Uhura said.

"Send them an encoded message to scramble their communications, Lieutenant. Now, open the channel."

"Commander," came the pilot's voice, "are we under attack?"

"Negative, Mister Kyle, but a Romulan warbird _has_ arrived. It is cloaked. What news?"

"We found the safe house, and traces of Captain Kirk, Sir. Doctor McCoy determined he must have been badly injured forty-three days ago. We also found three Vadarians, Sir. They were shot. And we found a map in the house. I am relaying it to you now, along with our plan to continue the search."

Spock glanced at the information on the screen. It was sketchy, at best.

"Mister, Kyle, the Romulans probably know better than we do where the Captain is being held. I am afraid that the _Enterprise _can only remain here and disallow them to uncloak and send their shuttle from here. We surmise that they will send it from the other side of the planet. The distance that it will have to travel to get to your region will buy you some time - assuming it is underway, only about four hours. So return the shuttlecraft to the search, Mister Kyle. Hurry, and be prepared."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine of *The Vadarian Trap***

Kirk was sitting up in the bed when he heard the arrival of the cars and then the commotion in front of the house. He exchanged a look with Siska, a look as neutral as he could make it. She walked over to the window and glanced out. Then she caught his eye for a second and quickly looked away. Her expression of shocked realization made his blood run cold.

He wanted to go and look out the window himself, but Parsam had taken away his crutches, so he was stuck in the bed. He was just cursing the man when he appeared, flanked by two soldiers.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Kirk muttered. "What's up, Doc? You look upset. Must be Sol, then."

The small Vadarian gave him a withering glance. That confirmed it. Though he didn't show it, his heart sank. Sol's rare visits always ended up making things much worse.

Parsam waved a hand and the two others moved. They grabbed Kirk by the arms and pulled him off the bed, none too gently.

"Stand up," Parsam bit. "Today's the day we're finally rid of you."

Kirk hid his quick and confused thoughts – _something else is going on here _- as he fought to find a comfortable position. His injured leg couldn't bear any weight and it was painful enough to rest his foot on the ground. But the men held him up and he stood, of sorts.

Sol entered the room.

"Ah!" Kirk exclaimed with jubilant surprise. "The great General has come to grace us with his presence!"

He grinned broadly at the soldier to his left. This made him feel a little silly, but it never failed to make his unwitting partner extremely self-conscious, and to irritate the target.

But to himself he thought, _I must be crazy_. The situation was explosive, and playing with fire was only going to get him burned. Siska was all but cowering in the corner. The soldiers holding him were practically radiating a surge of nervous tension. Parsam stood by, smaller than ever, sweating profusely. And even Sol looked uncharacteristically harassed.

Still, it was the perfect moment to upset the balance.

"What's going on, guys?" he asked, smiling mischievously at each one in turn as if _he_ was the cause of their jumpiness. Following a hunch, he added, "Got in over our heads, have we?"

He tried to dodge Sol's attack, but the soldiers held him tight and the Vadarian's large hand struck him flat on the injured ear. He collapsed instantly in his captors' grasp, his breath stolen away by the astounding explosion of pain and the total loss of balance.

Either he had lost what little remained of his hearing, or the room remained strangely still while he struggled to regain his composure. When he finally looked up again, his vision still seesawing and swimming with bright flashes, he found himself face to face with the other who had entered the room.

Roshan.

00000000000

"Well, well," Kirk groaned, "if it isn't the Usurper himself."

"You'll do well to silence that forked tongue of yours, Captain Kirk," said Roshan, smiling thinly. "By the looks of you, you can't get much worse for wear."

Kirk scoffed.

"You mean if you beat me up any more the Klingons will lower their price?"

He found his opponent's face curiously easy to read.

"So it's Romulans, then."

And there was something else in Roshan's face, something not fitting in the hard, closed face of this ruthless wielder of power.

_Fear._

"So _you're_ the one who's in over your head," Kirk concluded, holding fast to Roshan's gaze and relishing the fury in those black eyes. For once the smile breaking on his face was one of a genuine pleasure. "You may have rocked this little planet of yours but in the world out there – _my _world – you're just a backwater hireling-"

"-_Enough_!" Roshan barked. "Gag him and bring him."

Roshan turned and marched out of the room. Sol stepped into his place in front of Kirk. He grabbed Kirk's chin and, sneering, dangled the gag in front of Kirk's eyes.

Kirk knew it well. It was a metal rod that sent out a small but unbearable electrical pulse whenever the victim mobilized his vocal cords, in effect paralyzing them. They had used it on him in the beginning, when they had moved him around in the more populated areas. He had been hidden in a secret compartment in a car, unable to make even the smallest sound while they passed through roadblocks. The thing was designed for a Vadarian, too large for a human. It hurt even if he didn't try to speak, and it nearly cut off all of his oxygen.

"Why is he here, Sol?" Kirk breathed quickly, fighting Sol's grasp. "If it's a simple exchange, why is he-"

Sol forced his jaw open and rammed the gag down his throat, then stepped back and studied him as he reeled between his guards.

"Not so smug anymore, are you?" Sol jeered. "Bring him downstairs."

Kirk's guards pulled him into the corridor and down the stairs, and he tried hard not to moan with the pain of his injured leg dragging along the steps. He was gasping for breath when they hauled him into a sitting room, where they shoved him into an armchair.

He fell back into the chair. His leg was a blinding agony at the center of a very bad situation. For the tortures of Parsam and Sol were nothing compared to what the Romulans would do to him.

**Note: this is till where I wrote the story. I have some idea of what is going to happen, but it might take me a little while to get it down "on paper".**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten of *The Vadarian Trap***

It was an hour before he saw a change in the Vadarians in the room - two guards, Parsam and Siska. They sat up and cast questioning glances at each other. Their hearing was about as sensitive as a human's, but Kirk's head was still ringing with Sol's blow. Then he heard it too, remote and ambiguous at first, then, suddenly and breathtaking, the pulsing, deafening drone of a large aircraft landing.

The others ran to the window. Siska clasped her hand to her mouth to silence a gasp.

They stared. Until the Federation had come to the planet, only two years ago now, the Vadarians had never seen a shuttlecraft, let alone an Empire shuttle. For that's what Kirk knew it to be, a Romulan shuttle, two times the size of the Federation standard shuttlecraft and more heavily equipped, armed and armored.

And it had decloaked right on their front lawn.

Siska looked back at him, her hand still clasped to her mouth, her large, black eyes wide with fear and awe. He offered her a tired, almost apologetic smile, the first smile he had ever given her.

_Too late, too late._

There was stomping of many boots in the short hallway. Kirk forbore to try and turn in his chair to see the doorway. The faces of Siska and the others told him all he wanted to know.

A second later the Romulan Commander, his rank displayed on his golden tunic, towered over him.

"Medic!" he barked after looking at Kirk for but a second. Then he turned away again, his mind on other things. Kirk knew he had ascertained all he had to about the prisoner: in bad shape, but alive enough, and immobilized.

The situation, however, was not so clear, nor so controllable. There were plenty of nervous Vadarians armed to the teeth, their physical strength rivaling, if not surpassing a Romulan's. The territory was unknown and the shuttle would be of little use in those dense woods. Then there were probably the negotiations still to be dealt with, and it would not have escaped the Commander's notice that not all these Vadarians were on the same page about the outcome.

Kirk had considered this within a second, even before the medic appeared. He was slighter in build, and regarded him with a keener eye. He kneeled, opened his medkit and whipped out a sensor.

The thought _Bones_ snatched cruelly on Kirk's heart. He suddenly felt very vulnerable, not to the Romulans, but to his own emotions.

"There is no need for this device," the Romulan grumbled. Before Kirk knew it, the strong hand closed around his jaw, but it was surprisingly gentle.

"Do not fight me, Captain Kirk," the medic said.

Still struggling to regain control, Kirk cooperated willingly. He choked when the gag came out, but it was done as painlessly as and cleanly as when Tancred had relieved him of the thing. The Romulan threw the gag down with a grunt of distaste, then reach for Kirk's injured leg.

Kirk flinched.

The medic stopped.

"It is badly infected, Captain," he said respectfully. "If we are to transport you, I need to immobilize it. But I will give you an analgesic first."

Well, that at least was positive, Kirk thought, as sarcastically and bitterly as he could, but when the wave of relief washed over him his precarious self-control nearly gave. It was all he could do now not to weep, and he blinked to keep the tears from his eyes. The medic gently grasped the leg and bent the knee slightly to fit it into a metal cast, which he snapped closed around it. Kirk looked down on it, disbelieving, for he didn't feel a thing.

_No more pain_.

He told himself _that_ wasn't going to last, and set his jaw and greedily pulled from it all the strength and courage he knew he was going to need in the time to come.

Deftly but swiftly the medic scanned him again. He seemed satisfied and rose.

"Can you walk, Captain?" he asked.

It wasn't a question, really, just part of the protocol – the Romulans, so much more correct than the Klingons, who would have kicked him out of the place screaming and bleeding.

_Not that it matters much in the long run_, he reminded himself.

He nodded.

Two more Romulans appeared from behind him. They pulled him up out of the chair, gave him a moment to recover his balance, then started to carry him out of the room.

_So four at least. There must be many more, a shuttle can carry twenty. And they're in a hurry to get me out of here. _

0000000000

Parsam watched Kirk closely as the Romulan medic fussed over him. At first he scowled at the Romulan's respectful demeanor and the gentle handling of his prisoner. Painkiller indeed! All these month's work he had done upon the Captain, wasted in a second!

But then he noticed how Kirk struggled. It took him a few moments to realize that the Kirk was having trouble containing his emotions. Was the Captain actually going to break down?

It wasn't fear of the Romulan, _that_ Parsam could tell. Was it merely a gentle touch that now brought him to the edge? Kirk hid it well, and the Romulan medic hardly noticed. The latter's actions were merely protocol, and his deference stemmed from rank and a shared history, even if adversarial. But to Parsam, who had watched for so long now for a sign of weakness, that sudden, shocking insight made him reel.

And he hated Kirk all the more.

He had heard Roshan and Sol arguing, and the implications of their argument were still not clear to him. But now he decided that Kirk wouldn't leave this planet alive. That he would not rest until he, Parsam, a prisoner to Kirk's life as much as Kirk had been a prisoner to his rage, had done what he had wanted to do all these many days, and that was to look the Captain in the eye while he throttled the life out of him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven of *The Vadarian Trap***

Kirk took it all in in a matter of seconds.

The shuttle was parked a hundred feet away, against the edge of the forest. Its hatch stood open and he could see no movement inside.

In front of it stood a line-up of eleven Romulan soldiers, ram-rod straight, faces grim. Their phasers were on their belts, but they stood taut, at attention.

Vadarian soldiers – he counted twelve – were scattered around in groups, but Kirk wasn't fooled by their apparent disorganization. He recognized not one of them, so they must be Roshan's personal guard. He had seen them at work at the ceremony – how many months ago now? Adversity was carved on their expressive faces, and their black eyes shone with cruelty. They were also armed to the teeth.

Of Kirk's seven home guards he could locate not one. That left the two Romulan guards who still held him, the Romulan medic, and himself.

And the three who stood in the middle of that tense web of hostility. Roshan, Sol and the Commander were engaged in a heated, barely restrained discussion. They fell silent when Kirk was brought to them.

"Captain Kirk," said the Commander, acknowledging him with a curt nod. "I am S'Tev Volak, Commander of the Thi'Kel."

Kirk stood, supported by his guards, and looked the Romulan straight in the eye.

"Vadarial is in Federation Territory, Volak, and by coming here and engaging in this-trade, you are in violation-"

"-Captain, Captain!" A cool smile played on the Commander's lips, and he held up his hands in an exaggerated conciliatory gesture. "Notwithstanding your reluctance to go from – how do you say – the frying pan into the fire, we will have you off this planet in a minute." He glanced at Roshan, and the look of disgust was obvious to all. "It is time we went, Minister," he said, his voice low and even.

Roshan nodded and all but Sol started toward the shuttle.

Kirk knew he was doomed if they reached the vessel. Surprising his guards, he elbowed one of them in the ribs, but in his weakened state all he managed was to turn back to Sol, who was standing there, confused.

"Where are the weapons?" Kirk yelled at him. "The ammunition? He's leaving you behind!"

"Shut him up!" the Commander ordered, and Kirk crumpled as the soldier returned the punch. Dragging him along, their group picked up speed. Kirk watched the faces of the Vadarians: perplexed, expectant.

"Wait!"

"Keep moving," the Commander ordered.

"_Hold it_!" Sol yelled.

Suddenly everyone stood frozen. All weapons were drawn.

"_Minister_," the Commander warned under his breath.

Roshan turned slowly.

"Don't be stupid, General."

"You are deserting us?" Sol shouted, anger and desperation rivaling in his voice. "The revolution-"

"_What_ revolution?" Roshan raged. "The one you messed up by letting _him_ escape with the Elders? It's over, Sol, and it's your fault. He is my safe passage out of here. Blast you and your revolution!"

A shot rang out. It reverberated in Kirk's throbbing head, in the silence of the forest, for a second.

Roshan collapsed to his knees, fell forward into the grass.

All hell broke loose.

Kirk crashed to the ground as his guards relinquished their hold on him. They were all down, digging in under the deafening barrage of bullets and phaser bolts. Within seconds most had scampered and taken cover, except for Kirk, stuck in the middle with the bodies of Roshan, the medic, and one of his guards.

One of those corpses shook as it took a bullet for him, and he decided to get out of there as well. Crawling proved to be possible, if inelegant. The cast made the leg stiff and strong, so he could use to push himself off, and he made a mental note for McCoy to stock up on some of that Romulan pain inhibitor.

Taking advantage of a surge in the hostilities – they were now aiming at each other, forgetting about him - he dug his elbows into the duff and dragged himself into the nearest bushes. From there, he just kept going, staying low in the dense underbrush.

Soon he was breathless with the exertion. Through the ringing in his ear he made out that the fighting was still going on, further and further behind him. They'd be occupied with each other for a while yet. But with every foot he gained, the sickening feeling of desperation grew, bringing him back to his last escape attempt.

Where was he supposed to go?

And then there was his leg. The painkiller was patrolling his body, stomping out agony and tenderness alike by sealing off any sensation to the damaged cells. It had anesthetized his hands, cut and bleeding, but they were still doing what he commanded of them. Not so his leg, which could just as well have been a dead stick. He used it as little as he could, but he knew he was going to pay for it later.

Stubbornly, not even lifting his head to see what was ahead, he kept pulling himself along, shredding his hands on the tree roots, thorny brambles and vines. He had dragged himself along a narrow clearing and was about to reenter the bushes when a boot landed with a nauseating crunch onto his right hand.

He was so exhausted, so numb, he merely looked at the hand crushed under the boot and thought,

_That's gotta hurt._

00000000000

The boot lifted and kicked him in the head, turning him over onto his back.

_Not again._

Again the trees were rising up above him, their tops meeting in the blinding sky. Darkness started eating at the edges of the vision.

Someone pulled him up to sitting position and shook him hard.

"Kirk!"

"Ah, Parsam," he whispered, smiling - it was a habit now. "Hey, you're wounded-"

Parsam pulled him so close that, for a bizarre moment, Kirk thought the Vadarian was going to kiss him.

"You think you can get away?" Parsam breathed instead. "_No one's _leaving!"

Two strong hands closed around his throat. He tried to pry them off, more desperately as he ran out of air. The suffocating darkness was returning, but he knew not whether it was in his mind, or in the black Vadarian eyes, or where in the darkness he was, drifting, drifting away.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve of *The Vadarian Trap***

And then he thought he was elsewhere. A peaceful place. Except for gentle bird song and the chirrup of an insect, there was silence. A cool, soft hand was stroking his temple, stroking the hair from his forehead. _That_ he could still feel. The rest of his body was cut off from him, and he knew he must be dying, if not dead.

Reluctant, but curious, he opened his eyes. Siska's face, very close, mercifully blocked the sight of the towering trees and the blinding Vadarian sky. Her wide black eyes were brimming with tears, holding a sad smile. Her black hair hung loose to her shoulders. She had always worn it tightly clipped to the back of her head, and now he saw that it was thick and flaxy. He wished he could lift a hand and touch it.

"How?" he mouthed.

"Shush," she soothed, her hand still cool on his cheek. "I killed him. You're safe, for now, from _him_."

He only had to turn his head slightly to see where she glanced. Parsam was lying very close by, on his side. His black eyes were staring into nothing. His skull was crushed, a raw, bloody mess.

"You did that?" Kirk breathed.

"Yes," Siska hissed with quiet fervor. "I killed him, _and_ Sol. I shot him dead, just like he shot my husband!"

"Husband?" He could hardly utter the word.

"Darian Gon was my husband. He was also a spy for the Council of Elders. When we heard what Sol had done I attached myself to Parsam, knowing Roshan would call on him. I continued Gon's work as best I could, leaving a trail." The tears started rolling and she wiped them away with the back of her hand, leaving a bloody streak. "I don't know if it was ever picked up, Captain Kirk!" she said in a trembling voice. "I don't know. I'm so sorry. And now you-"

"Hush, Siska," he whispered, smiling, reveling in the sibilants of her name, "it's alright. I'll-"

He gasped and his pupils dilated to the blinding agony that engulfed his body, as bad and as sudden as when Sol had blown up his knee. He grabbed her arms to anchor his convulsing body and before he knew it was screaming.

Siska threw herself on top of him, muffling his cries with her hands.

"Sh-sh, _please_," she begged, panicking. "You _must _be quiet-"

He stopped because he had to drag in new air, and with the last shred of willpower he bit down hard on the next scream. Siska was crying, holding him down as he shook.

"I could not save him and I can't save you!" she sobbed in his ear.

He clenched his jaw and held on to her who held him close and tight against this torrent of suffering. Then the darkness was back again, and he embraced it.

000000000

McCoy's breath caught when that scream ripped through the forest.

"Jim!"

Their party sped up in the direction of the fluctuating life signs.

"Chekov, Jenkins, protect our flank," Kyle ordered. "They'll have heard it too."

Unmindful of the strategies, McCoy slashed through the vegetation, through the blur of green with some of the red of Kyle's shirt washing the corner of his vision, then opening out into more brown and in the middle of it, the incongruous white of a shroud, smeared with blood.

He pushed the Vadarian aside and fell to his knees beside his Captain.

"He's dead," she sobbed, but he hardly heard her.

The others crouched and closed around, like a cocoon.

_No, not dead, not dead. _

His hands moved automatically, one opening the medkit and loading the hypo, the other on Kirk's warm neck, feeling for a pulse. He injected the stimulant to start the heart again.

"I'm your friend," the Vadarian woman was saying.

Kyle: "You are the informant?"

McCoy concentrated on his fingertips, wet with the blood that was seeping from Jim's ear. There it was, the pulse, growing stronger, and a painful flutter of consciousness on Jim's deathly white face.

"We must leave, Doctor," Kyle hissed, "we _must_ move him!"

McCoy finally allowed himself to glance at that ruined leg. Despite the cast it looked deformed, the bare foot at the end of it at an odd angle and a ghastly blue under the bloody welts and cuts.

He punched the hypo into Jim's neck again, with the pain killer, and nodded.

He lifted Jim by the shoulders, and Chekov gingerly took both his legs. How light the Captain was, and not because their strength surged with adrenaline. They bore him like a feather, swiftly, following the path they had cleared. Their shuttle was not far away.

A phaser blast exploded a tree. McCoy, hunching protectively over the Captain, stumbled, but the Vadarian woman, much stronger than he was, held him up. They broke into the clearing where the _Copernicus_ waited.

Kirk was laid, as gently as they could, on the floor in the aisle while the others piled into the seats and in the back. The hatch closed and they launched, sluggishly, overloaded.

Someone handed McCoy the large on-board medkit and he went to work again, listening to the conversation with only half an ear.

"We must turn back to destroy their shuttle before they launch," Kyle called. "Doctor McCoy, does the Captain have time?"

They were hit by a phaser blast. The vessel lurched a little and Kyle cursed, his hands fluttering over the controls.

"How long?" McCoy yelled. Jim was stabilizing, but if they were going to be pushed around much more…

"Two minutes?"

He nodded and the shuttle veered off. More phaser blasts hit the hull and shuttle shuddered. McCoy held Jim to the floor as gently as he could, helped by the Vadarian woman.

"The Romulans have the upper hand," Chekov yelled above the din. "There! There it is! It's taking off! I have it! I have it!"

The _Copernicus_ trembled as Chekov loosed all of its firing power.

"Direct hit! They're down!" Chekov shouted.

"Take him home, Mister Kyle!" McCoy said.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen of *The Vadarian Trap***

Only a slight straightening of the back betrayed Spock's alarm when he saw the gurney exit the _Copernicus_. He hardly recognized his Captain and friend, emaciated and a deathly pale, the right side of his face disfigured by a web of scars, the ear half torn away and trickling a thick, brown liquid. Even through the thin sheet that was drawn over his body the deformity of his leg was appalling. Blood was soaking through the white fabric.

McCoy was glued to the gurney, stumbling along but not taking his eyes and hands off the patient. He barked orders at the medical team that had been standing by. Spock caught the words "cardiac arrest" and "shock."

With a tremendous force of will he turned to Chekov and Kyle, who were flanking the Vadarian female.

The Vadarian wasn't armed, but her towering height and physique exuded strength, and the blood and dirt she was covered in – especially her hands – gave her a fierce appearance. And fiercely she was leading Kyle and Chekov in pursuit of the Captain.

Spock stepped into her path.

"Darian Siska, you must not go beyond this bay," he ordered.

Her eyes ignored him, remained glued to the Captain, but she had to stop as he was physically blocking her and almost rivaled her height. He heard the doors close behind him, and it was like all the life went out of her. She finally looked him in the eye and her blood-smeared face surrendered to grief and shock.

"The Doctor will do all he can," said Spock, softening his voice. "But we cannot allow you proceed further into our vessel."

"I understand," she complied.

"I suggest you clean up while we debrief and while the engineers repair the shuttle. You must return as soon as possible to inform your government of what has occurred."

The Vadarian was brought a tub of water, which quickly turned brown as she washed the grime off her hands and face.

"Roshan was one of the first to be killed in the firefight," she said, scrubbing methodically. "I saw to Sol. The Romulan Commander was gravely wounded and some of his men were tending to him when I broke away. I followed Captain Kirk's track. I was just in time before Parsam-" She looked up at Spock with a sudden fierceness. "You have medical technology beyond ours! Like the Romulan doctor? You will save him!"

"It is true that our technology is advanced, and Doctor McCoy is a very capable physician, Darian Siska, but I have no information that will set you mind at ease about the Captain's condition."

She stared at him. Spock knew he had to proceed carefully. He took up the towel and held it out to her. She glanced down at it without taking it from him, then nodded once, took it, and toweled off.

"Assuming that my officers' report is correct," Spock continued, "that the Romulan shuttle was beyond repair, and that the Romulans on board the vessel from which it launched are becoming impatient, I suggest that you now proceed into the shuttle so that Mister Kyle can ferry you to your planet. Our ship is now in position over the capital, and we may have time to drop you off and return."

"I can't-can't wait? To hear?"

"I am afraid we do not have the time, Siska."

He took a step, and was relieved that she turned and followed him towards the shuttle.

"Do not waste your time explaining the situation in detail to your Elders. Tell them the bare minimum and then plead with them to enforce the shield as soon as our shuttle has passed through. Assure them in no uncertain terms that the Romulans have the fire power to penetrate the shield at its present strength."

They had reached the _Copernicus_. Spock stopped and caught the Vadarian's wide-eyed attention.

"Siska, we will stand by in case they attack your planet, but we might find ourselves outgunned. The sooner you have that shield at maximum, the sooner _we_ can leave."

"And the aliens on my planet?"

Spock stiffened a little. He had not forgotten that the Vadarians were going to close that shield regardless of whether the Captain was still on the planet or not. Siska's concerns would not be shared by the Elders.

"Do with them what your laws require."

Siska nodded emphatically. Spock felt an admiration for this woman. She had saved his Captain and she would not know, for as long as she lived, whether he had survived or not. She glanced one more time at the closed doors of the shuttle bay.

"Go now," Spock urged.

She nodded again, and disappeared into the _Copernicus_.

0000000000

Red Alert was blaring. From the Captain's chair on the bridge Spock watched the shuttle breach the shield and continue on its last leg to the _Enterprise. _Chekov was monitoring the sensors closely for energy fluctuations. Sulu was poised with all the firing power available to the _Enterprise_.

There was still no word from Sickbay.

"The _Copernicus _has docked, Sir," Sulu said.

"The Vadarian shield!" Chekov exclaimed excitedly. "It has closed, Mister Spock!"

Spock took but a second to inhale.

"Shields up. Mister Sulu, set course for Starbase Ten, warp six. I will be in Sickbay."

Even as he raised himself out of the chair, Spock felt the slight shift in the ship's gravity as they entered warp. All eyes were on him as he entered the turbolift and the doors slid shut upon him.

0000000000

"They are still operating, Mister Spock," said the orderly.

"No news?"

"No news, Commander."

The orderly pulled a chair from under the Doctor's desk, but Spock remained standing.

Spock couldn't contain a frown, then quickly and consciously smoothed his features. It was too late for the orderly, who left the small room in a hurry.

Spock stood, breathing deliberately, his fingers steepled in front of his chest. He _knew_ Kirk was alive. He had known all these months and now was no different. But there had been times when he had given in to doubt. He had fallen into the error of internalizing the tone he had taken with the Doctor.

"He _is_ alive, Doctor, you _must _believe me."

When had he started speaking to himself like that? When did those loud assurances start to erode his own quiet, simple certainty until the latter was all but inaudible under the noise? And his words to the Doctor, to himself, without foundation?

Now here he stood. He had been right all along. Jim had been brought back alive. But now? He closed his eyes and listened, searching for that link which he could not name. How, if he could not, _would _not, name it, would he find it again?

Just as he was about to surrender to his loss – and he remembered Siska with pity, for wasn't _this_ what she would have to live with all her life – there it was, in the quiet of his sadness.

_He lives._

0000000000

McCoy was exhausted. His adrenaline plummeted as Jim stabilized, fortunately just as quickly.

"You must rest, Doctor," Spock said, looking at him closely.

McCoy shrugged, as if he could shake off Spock's gaze.

"You don't look so swell yourself, Spock," he retorted, but his heart wasn't in it.

He sank into the chair at his desk and rested his face in his hands. Spock could just catch the moaned words:

"I stopped believing."

Taking a deep breath McCoy lifted his face out of his hands.

"_I gave up on him_, Spock," he said angrily.

"You did not, Doctor. You continued searching and saved his life."

"But you don't know how close I came, down there, to quitting! Damn it, if it hadn't been for Chekov, I would have!"

"We _all_ came that close, Doctor," Spock said quietly.

This pulled McCoy out of his misery. He studied Spock as intensely as Spock had scrutinized him.

Spock steeled himself, but the Doctor said nothing.

"Well," McCoy said, standing up wearily. "I need to sleep. Jim's stable. There will be complications, and more surgery, but we'll deal with those when the time comes. For now, I can say that-" he stopped, a broad smile lit up his face, and Spock too was buoyed by that sudden sparkle of joy in those tired blue eyes , "that he's out of the woods."


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks to Trena Too and Romanse for pointing out that my "ending" so far does not allow Kirk to know that he has been rescued. A major oversight on my part, hereby corrected!

**Chapter Fourteen of *The Vadarian Trap***

Regaining consciousness to the voice of Doctor McCoy had almost been too much for Jim Kirk. Spock had rarely seen the Captain struggle so with his emotions.

"_Bones_, _Spock_," he had whispered before falling speechless.

Now, twenty minutes later, ten of which went into a cursory debriefing, the Captain was at the end of his strength. Still, the unspoken thought that so clearly haunted him needed expression. However altered by his ordeal, he was still Jim Kirk, who balked at no confrontation, least of all with himself.

"For a long time I believed you were dead," said the exhausted Captain.

However tired, he caught the quick glance that passed between his CMO and First Officer.

"Well," McCoy coughed, "I had my moment of doubt too, Jim."

"No," Kirk insisted with sudden vehemence, "you don't understand. Even after I thought I knew, I was never sure, never sure. For weeks, for _months_, I despaired!"

"I think not, Captain," Spock said gently. "You attempted to escape, and you persevered, which indicates you did _not_ despair. In the absence of such certainty, despair is not the only alternative. _Doubt_- Doubt is-acceptable."

Kirk regarded the uncharacteristically hesitant Vulcan with interest, a curious smile playing on his lips. Yet he was fading fast.

"Well," McCoy put in, obviously to release the tension. " Spock here never doubted that you were alive, Jim. As usual. One day you two will have to explain this connection to me."

Kirk's smile for Spock warmed and he nodded weakly. Then his heavy eyelids sank down.

"There is no doubt now, my friends…" he whispered.

And whatever else he had meant to say was offered up to deep and healing sleep.

- FIN -


End file.
